The house is quiet as Satoru slips out of his room and trudges down the stairs, save for the low hum of electricity and some appliances, which he can only hear due to his heightened senses. It’s also dark, which is to be expected, since it’s… what? Satoru pulls out his phone (‘When did I grab my phone?’ he wonders) and checks the time. 2:22AM. Wow. Thank god Shoko basically lives in the school morgue, otherwise he’d be getting an earful right about now.
Traipsing across the cold floorboards into the kitchen, Satoru turns on the undercounter lights, and scratches through the cupboards for a decently sized glass.
He’s only been living in this dorm-house-apartment thing for about two months (soon to be three), but he’s already gotten used to the placement of everything. Mostly because he partially helped make the floor plans for it, and he filled it up with stuff for his temporary tenancy. Sometimes he forgets that, and sometimes he remembers that he suggested the idea of dorm apartments in the first place. Honestly, he’s still kind of surprised that the higher ups ever agreed to it, but bigger dorms means more students, and more students means more sorcerers to do everything for them–
The glass clinks as Satoru pulls it out of the cupboard. ‘Yeah, this’ll do.’
He winces as another fake contraction hits him, this one weaker than the last few but still enough to have him bracing himself against the counter at the suddenness of it.
“Kid…,” Satoru mutters, setting his glass down in the sink, “I swear to god, if ya do that again…” It’s an empty threat, of course. He knows she doesn’t mean it. And it’s not even her fault; his own body is doing this to him, not her. He knows that too.
The constant stabbing pains do nothing to help Satoru’s exhaustion though, and while rinsing his glass and filling it up with cold water, he finds that his legs are no longer cooperating with him and he stumbles over to a chair by the kitchen table, suddenly needing to sit down.
Sighing, he plops the glass down on the table where he sits, and watches the droplets on its surface glint softly in the light from the kitchen. He narrows his eyes at them, daring them to fall so he can wipe them up, but alas, they only glide down at an agonizingly slow pace, as if purposely testing his patience and seeing how long they can take before he becomes irritated.
With a totally not irritated twitch of his eye, Satoru ultimately decides to ignore them and picks up the glass to take a long sip — though ignoring becomes harder when some of the little beads dribble annoyingly down his arm and his chin. Shoko says drinking water helps with these false contractions, so that’s what he’s doing. He sets the glass back down after downing about half of it, and surprisingly, he already feels a bit better. He looks at the glass again and the extra force and gravity had made a few of the droplets slide further down, taunting him with how close to the bottom they are but they refused to move any lower under his gaze.
“Tch.”
Satoru pulls out his phone as a means to distract himself from a sudden urge to crush the glass. His thumb glides over the screen, aimlessly perusing his many apps, debating on his choice of doomscroll poison. For a minute, he considers going to TikTok or even Instagram to watch endless videos of puppies and dogs, but somewhere along the way his mind wanders and he ends up in his contacts lists, clicking on “lil stinker” — Megumi.
He hasn’t seen or talked to Megumi in almost a week. Same with Tsumiki. Which is to be expected, since the kids’ got school and everything else and Satoru’s got… well, a lot of things really, but in the last few weeks or maybe even the last month or so, save for the odd weekend or two, he’s seen them both less and less, and to be completely honest? He was really starting to miss them.
Tsumiki won’t be up at this time, but Megumi is, well, Megumi. So of course, his status says “online” at one of the most cursed hours of the morning. And of course, Satoru shoots him a text.
gojooo: heyyy :]
1 seconds, 2 seconds, 3 seconds–
lil stinker is typing
Satoru finds the little bubbles funny, and they make him snicker.
lil stinker: why are you up?
gojooo: i could ask ya the same thing!
lil stinker: i‘m studying and doing homework
lil stinker: what’s your excuse?
gojooo: fake contractions :(
lil stinker: hm
lil stinker: did you do what Ieiri said to do?
gojooo: yeah yeah i’m drinkin water
lil stinker: have they gone away yet
gojooo: ehhh mostly
lil stinker: so go back to bed
gojooo: :(
lil stinker: gojo
gojooo: don’t wanna
lil stinker: you have to
gojooo: i CAN’T
lil stinker: you’re PREGNANT you have to sleep
gojooo: ughhh you sound like shoko
lil stinker: what
lil stinker: nvm just go to bed
gojooo: i just told you, i can’t
gojooo: it’s not gonna work out
lil stinker: are you bored or something
gojooo: sighhh idk
Satoru pauses, tapping his fingernails against the side of his phone (‘I haven’t cut my nails in weeks, I should do that,’ he thinks), before adding:
gojooo: i just wanted to talk to ya ig
The texting bubbles from Megumi suddenly disappear. Satoru hums in confusion, wondering why they stopped so abruptly. A few long moments go by, and what Satoru thinks was at least 5 minutes was actually just 30 seconds.
He’s about to text again, to ask what happened, when the texting bubbles pop up for a split second before another message appears:
lil stinker: K
Satoru almost bursts out laughing.
Before he can respond, Megumi sends another text.
lil stinker: just don’t blame me if you die of sleep deprivation
And Satoru really does laugh out loud.
gojooo: sure kid XD
lil stinker: …
lil stinker: wtv
lil stinker: also
lil stinker: tmrw’s Saturday so no school obv
lil stinker: if you’re not busy
lil stinker: Tsumiki wants to go shopping with us
gojooo: aww~ did she miss me ^3^
lil stinker: idk
gojooo: :(
lil stinker: you ask her
lil stinker: if you’re coming tmrw
gojooo: i am!
gojooo: the twins will too bc it’s their day to watch me tmrw
gojooo: kiki will like that ^_^
lil stinker: yeah
lil stinker: but you have to go to bed
lil stinker: and drink more water
gojooo: says you :/
lil stinker: go to bed Gojo
gojooo: fineee
gojooo: g’night
lil stinker: night
Satoru sighs, putting his phone down on the table and leaning back in his chair, hands folded and resting on his stomach. “Looks like I’ve at least got something to do tomorrow,” he says to no one in particular.
The conversation replays in his head, and the more he thinks about it, the more a buzzy feeling in his chest makes itself known, and he finds himself smiling. He really did miss the kids. And now he’s going to see them tomorrow. And he’s excited.
Tomorrow will take forever to arrive if he doesn’t go to bed though. He looks at his phone to check the time. 2:31AM. Hmph.
The blue light from the screen burns into his retinas the longer he looks at it, and he frowns, turning away from it. You’d think many a late night spent on his phone would’ve desensitized him to this by now, but nooo. He follows the light with his eyes, watching it fade out the higher it gets. It mingles with the light coming from the undercounter. Cool light and warm light meet in the middle, mixing, leading Satoru’s eyes down to where they glimmer off the glass cup, still half-drunk. The droplets have long since fallen to the bottom, finally sitting on the table where he can wipe them up. Though, he’s still not sure why he needed an excuse to do so. ‘Well… s’pose I should finish it,’ he thinks, staring at the water.
He reaches over, taking the tip of the glass into his hand and pulling it over, the droplets at the base and on the table stretching and spreading with the movement. The cup tilts ever so slightly, the water in it slanting to match. Satoru pushes it back right side up with just enough force to make it rock. Then he pulls it again, and pushes it again. Pull and push, pull and push, pull and push. He fucking giggles at himself.
Just when he decides he’s done playing this game of his and wants to actually drink the water, another shooting pain, a false contraction, catches him off guard, and his one last push to the glass makes it rock again but further than it should.
For half a second, it looks like it’ll fall over, but miraculously, it rights itself in time. Satoru however, delayed and distracted by his own bodily pain, notices a second too late, and his attempt to grab the cup to stop it from falling results in it actually falling, and the remaining water spills onto the table and over the edges too, falling onto his lap and soaking his pants.
Satoru doesn’t yell or shout, he just yelps very briefly, cutting himself off with a scoff and a grumble. Because it’s just spilled water. It’s not like it was hot or anything, it’s not like there’s a lack of water in the house, and it’s not like he can’t just clean it up.
But…
You know those scenes in movies, where the main character is holding onto a rope, hanging from a precarious ledge or a bridge or something like that? And then the rope, unable to handle the weight for such a long time, starts to fray, until there’s just one singular thread holding everything up?
Well, Satoru didn’t realize just how thin his rope was getting. Or maybe it’s always been like this and he’s just ignored it. But now he’s sitting alone in the kitchen, pant legs damp, staring daggers at the glass cup and its water on the table, with his lips pressed into a narrow line, while his hands clench and unclench on his lap as he tries very hard not to give into the urge to throw Red at the glass.
His resolve is weakening by the second.
One flick. That’s all it would take.
One flick of Red, and that cup would be gone. Flung across the room. Shattered. There’d be glass everywhere, but at least he’d get some satisfaction out of it.
Satoru’s fingers twitch and his eyes narrow. He’s really considering it.
The fragile thread in his mind thins even more, strands snapping off piece by piece, his reason and sensibility going with them. The urges become stronger, whispering at him, egging him on, goading him into doing this. It would be so easy.
Then there’s a scent of cursed energy; his own cursed energy. It flares up, surging out of him wildly, licking at him like mottled blue flames, making things around him — the table, the cupboards, anything that isn’t bolted down, and even the things that are — start to vibrate and shake, affected by his power.
His cursed energy never used to be this turbulent. Before, it was controlled, tempered. It had to be. He needed it to be. But ever since things– his body– his mind– changed, he’s been unable to keep it in check. Not when half his resources are going to building another being inside his. It’s been harder and harder to properly use his techniques as time goes on. No Red, no Blue, and no Infinity. It feels wrong. It feels weak. It feels vulnerable.
Satoru hates it.
Lights flicker. Noise rattles in his brain and outside of it. He can hear his own thoughts in his head, his blood in his ears, his heartbeat in his throat. Just do it. You know you can.
He raises a hand, folding all fingers except for one in.
An index finger points vaguely in the direction of the glass.
One flick and it’s over.
One flick.
Just one–
His phone buzzes.
And all at once, everything stops.
Satoru inhales sharply, and his cursed energy dies down immediately. The rattling stops, the lights still, the noise quiets, and his hand falls to his side. Any and all energy he had leaves him in a rush, and he sinks in his chair, swallowing hard and breathing shakily with a wide-eyed thousand-yard stare.
His eyes start to burn again, but not because of a technique or a phone screen. No, they burn with tears. Hot, stinging tears well up at the corners of his eyes, accompanying a lump in his throat. What the hell was he just about to do? Did he really think that was worth it? Why did he think that was worth it? …Was he really that tired of everything?
A soft pitter-patter gets his attention. He turns his head to the kitchen window, and looks past the curtains, out into the dark of the night. The window is wet, water droplets sliding speedily down the glass, replaced by another and another not even a second later. ‘When did it start raining?’ he asks himself.
Another buzz from his phone gets him to look away from the window. He picks it up, seeing two notifications from his contacts. He clicks on them without really thinking, still lost in his head. But when it opens up and he sees who the messages are from, his breath catches in his throat.
Suguru.
---
- excerpt from the fic that i'll take a million years to write :)
